


Belonging

by Silva_13



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Heartbreak, M/M, Secrets, Self-Loathing, Unrequited Love, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:57:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13/pseuds/Silva_13
Summary: Dean sells Fili's swords.





	Belonging

**Author's Note:**

> This just happened when I washed the dishes o_O
> 
> Thanks to I'm_a_huge_fan_of_coffee for motivation and help with vocabulary! You're the best! ;-*

Dean stared at the weapons one last time before he covered them with another thick layer of bubble pack. They had been polished and carefully wrapped in the packing material. But yet, he didn't want anything to happen to them. Better safe than sorry, and so he added another layer and put the envelope with the authenticity certificate on top.

 

_That's it._

 

He hesitated to close the box for good; there would be no way back if he did. But was there now? No! The swords were sold, an American fan had already paid a moderate sum and he was no one to blow a deal. And what would he gather from keeping them anyway? There would be a lot of explaining to do if he did. Plus, finding a place for them in the house again and, of course, a way to _not_ stare at them with remorse. His time as Fili was it what they reminded him of; mostly. But they also brought back memories of endless training sessions, exhaustion and pain in his muscles and joints. But also laughter, adoring glances, soothing hands which massaged the tension in his back and shoulders away, words of endearment whispered in the dead of the night, the sound of a deep voice with an irresistible Irish lilt, soft and full lips kissing the life out of him. Then there would be that sweet shift in the air when affection turned into passion and, if they let it go further, to wild animalistic lust. The smell of sweat and sex afterwards was also something Dean could perfectly remember and it sent goose bumps down his forearms. All these memories, witnesses of a time long gone, were connected to these particular swords.

 

He sighed deeply when he finally closed the box with a generous amount of gaffer tape. He had made his decision, and the right one it had been. He loved his wife deeply, was even still _in love_ with her, like in those first sweet months of their relationship so many years ago. And they led a happy life, full of affection and laughter, like he had always known they would. They were made for each other, come what may.

 

When he finally had brought the package to the post office, he couldn't help but feel relief. It had been his decision alone to sell the props and he had contemplated it back and forth for a very long time without telling anyone. Now, with the objects finally out of sight, safely on their way to the USA, he felt somehow lighter. Life could go on.

 

~~~

 

The box was heavy, but carrying it was no effort for him these days. With a TV role, which required a high level of fitness and nothing else in his life than working out and acting, muscle mass was not his problem at all. If only everything was so easy.

 

Finding the perfect place for the objects also had been easy. This huge empty house had so many rooms which went unused, so one of the smaller ones had become his 'memory lane'. At least that was how he called it officially. People who happened to come in here could see the shelf with his ballroom dancing trophies, along with pictures, props and other collectibles and remainders from 14 years of acting. There were Mitchell's fingerless gloves and one of the tricorn hats Ross Poldark had worn; lots of stuff along with even more pictures from colleagues and locations.

 

He was in the most of them, smiling and laughing, living a happy life. A life long gone, even so no-one but himself knew that. He did an excellent job in putting on his self-designed mask of happiness. The people who met him described him as a radiant ball of energy, all smiles and jokes. And happy he must be after all, with all the recognition he got and the success all his projects seemed to earn. But first of all he was an actor and keeping up his facade was no challenge at all, not in the slightest. Sometimes he even believed it himself.

 

Lost in his thoughts he stopped in front of the back wall, putting the box down on the floor. Then he removed the large Hobbit poster, announcing the premier of 'An Unexpected Journey' back in 2012. It only took him two seconds, as the poster was pinned on a broad wooden panel, covering what was probably his biggest and darkest secret. Another door, hidden and locked. A door to a room only he knew existed.

 

He took the key from his pocket and unlocked it; it had been a while since he had last come here. He picked the box up again and entered the dark room. This was actually why it had a more fitting but secret name only he used. It was not a room of memories, instead he thought of it more often as 'Chamber of Misery', sometimes even as 'the Walls of Shame' when he was in a particular bad mood.

 

After all, it took him only half an hour until the contents of the box had been installed safely, and no less decoratively, on the wall. He had no idea why Dean had sold his swords. If it was his own choice or if his wife had forced him, knowing all too well what had been going on back in the days of shooting The Hobbit. He only knew he needed to have them and so he had set up a fake identity and had paid a ridiculously high sum to buy them. The address in the US belonged to a friend, who owed him a favour and had conveyed the package to London without asking too many questions.

 

He would never know the reasons which had caused Dean to make such a decision, nor would he ask, as the latter had broken up contact completely after a failed attempt to rekindle at least their friendship at a convention in Japan more than two years ago; another disaster in the long chain of events. He knew he wasn't allowed to call. Or write. Or to make contact in any other way he could think of. Dean had made his decision and he had no right to interfere with it. He knew when he had lost a battle. And aside from that, who was he to mess up with a happy relationship, especially when he had once counted the partners to his closest friends? He had known what he got himself into from the beginning.

 

Being physical, 'friends with benefits', was one thing when one party was single and the other lived in an open relationship. Developing feelings, on the other hand, was another matter altogether. And yet it had happened. He had always known he had to give up on Dean at one point, but still it had hurt. And still did. The only persons who knew about it besides himself were Dean and his wife. No one else knew that the two actors playing Fili and Kili in Peter Jackson's Hobbit trilogy once had been way more than only colleagues or friends. The love affair had been overwhelming, intoxicating and beyond passionate. And, unfortunately, temporary. And while Dean obviously had no problem to carry on, he couldn't. It just hurt too much.

 

He knew he was pathetic, incredibly ashamed of himself and his own incapability to overcome the past and move on. He even had tried counselling at one point to seek help, but that had turned out in an outright catastrophe. Not only that, apparently he had turned into a creep, secretly collecting reminders of a time when his smile actually had reached his eyes.

 

He wondered if this was how stalking started. Was he such a person? A stalker? A pervert even? He desperately shook his head to get rid of those self-loathing thoughts.

 

_No one must ever know._

 

Stepping back to observe his work, his eyes roamed over the other 'artefacts' he had collected in this room. Dozens of pictures, showing the both of them on various occasions. So happy. So carefree.

 

_So in love._

 

A tear rolled down his cheek when his gaze fell on the twin swords on the wall and, next to them, his bow and arrow. Maybe Dean was ready to let Fili go; Fili and his time at the Hobbit set and everything which had come with that. Aidan wasn't though, and probably never would be. What else had he left other than those memories of happier days?

 

Apparently, Dean had no room for the swords anymore; no more room for Fili.

 

_No more room for me._

 

He, Aidan, would. Always. He took another step back to look at the weapons, twin swords on the right, bow and arrow on the left, hanging next to each other. He wiped away a second tear, then a third. If he and Dean couldn't be together, maybe Fili and Kili could. In a way, an obscure and only symbolic way. His eyes glanced again over all the pictures, the black knitted tie, the grey beanie, and of course the shirt he had unintentionally kept. Then again it flickered back to the weapons on the wall, hanging there as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

 

_They belong together._

 

He inhaled deeply and let out a quivering breath. And then, losing all his composure and overwhelmed with pain, the feeling of loss and embarrassment, Aidan slid down to the floor and buried his face in his arms when he broke down crying.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](silva-13.tumblr.com)


End file.
